Author: Neil Hanson

Neil administers this site and manages content.

Jade Blooms

Each year, soon after I drag my giant Jade plant into the house for the winter, it explodes with delicate white flowers that grace my office for a couple months before fading away. I never knew Jade plants could bloom, and only stumbled onto the secret by accident.

First, they’ve got to be pretty old before they’ll even think about blooming. This one that blooms so big each year was 10 years old before it threw its first flower. Now, at close to 20, the blooms get better and better each year.

Second, the secret that I stumbled on was hardship. Jade is a tropical plant, and if the frost gets on it, it’s done. Here in Colorado, our evenings get cold all year, and in the fall, they can get down close to freezing pretty early in September. The trick is to watch the forecast carefully, and leave it outside in the sun and cool nights as long as possible. Then, when you’ve waited as long as possible, and made the plant suffer through as many cold nights as possible without freezing it, you bring it in and put it close to a nice sunny window for the winter.

And wait a week or so.

Something about that combination triggers the plant to put nice pink and white buds out, that eventually open up into the delicate white flowers.

We’re like the Jade plant in many ways I think. Deep branches with heavy scars come with the wisdom required to foster the delicate flowers of beauty in life. Our early years are focused on the intense growth and development of youth, with little time for tiny beauty that we might be able to coax from our experience. Spending some time out in the cold, suffering through close encounters with killing frost, helps us to understand the real value of the warm side of the sunny winter window.

With enough years, and with enough scars, we learn to flower as well. Not the big showy flowers or the stunning growth of youth, but the delicate white buds and flowers that can only happen if you stumble on the trick.

New Magazine Article – Bicycle Touring Across Colorado and Kansas

I’ve got an article in the newest edition of Adventure Monkey magazine. It’s the “Touring Edition”, and there are some great stories in there of some really fun bicycle touring that folks have done! Nothing about Lance Armstrong in there, no RAAM updates, but good articles about real touring adventures.

The article I contributed is about the bicycle ride Dave and I took across Colorado and Kansas last summer. The chronicle of that ride is morphing into a book that I hope to publish next year.

Here’s a link to where you can download the issue electronically.

Here’s a link to where you can purchase a hard copy if you want that sort of thing…

Eric Benjamin is the fella who puts this magazine together. He does a really great job of it, and I’d encourage you to take a look at his work. You can find his blog post about this issue here, and from there you can look more if you want.

Thanks for reading!

Final Archery Sunrise 2010

In the pale inky darkness my eyes catch a tiny bit of movement in the field about 100 yards in front of me. There’s a sliver of faint pre-dawn light along the eastern horizon, which provides a hint of light on the meadow.

Peering through my binoculars, I can see the form more clearly – a single deer moving across the open field in the darkness. It moves like a doe, but the fact that it’s moving alone leads me to believe it’s a young buck – either looking for trouble or trying to stay out of it.

The rut seems to be peaking this week, and the growing energy in the woods has me amped with the hope of strong activity today. Tomorrow is the full moon, so this little sliver of morning is the only real darkness the deer have seen tonight. Typically, a full moon tends to bring the rut to a fever pitch, and the electricity in the air is nearly palpable this morning.

As the light builds, I hear a doe off behind my left shoulder snorting. She could be warning her group of a danger, or trying to get them back together into a group before daybreak. I hear the footsteps of deer in the woods back over my right shoulder, but am unable to see anything when I crane my neck and watch over that shoulder. I suspect that there’s a doe that’s split off from her group, interested in gaining the attention of a nearby buck. That would explain the snort a few minutes ago as well – the dominant doe trying to bring her group back together.

I rattle a bit with the antlers I’ve got up in my stand with me, seeing if I can attract the attention of any bucks in the area. By the time the sun is rising, I’ve rattled 3 or 4 times, and have watched 3 different bucks flitting nervously around the area. My rattling is almost meaningless, as the group of does close by has all the attention of the bucks in the area.

I hear the prancing footsteps of deer over my right shoulder again, and this time I can see a lone doe, with a decent buck chasing her. She ducks down into the creek, about 75 yards to my right, and I see the buck head down that way.

It’s interesting watching a buck chasing a doe in heat. He spends a good deal of time with his nose down on the ground, following her scent. Even when she’s in sight right in front of him, he’ll drop his nose to the ground as he moves – snorting that pheromone drug off the ground as he moves toward the object of his lust. This is what gets so many of ‘em killed on the highways this time of year – they’re completely oblivious to the world around them – focused completely on that object of lust leaving a trail for him to follow.

This morning, his object of lust is in the mood, and anxious to be caught. Occasionally, he slows down too much for her – spending too much time sniffing in the leaves after her – so she stops and waits for him to catch up a bit. I see her at the edge of the creek bank, having climbed the other side now, and waiting to make sure her buck sees where she heads. He apparently does, so she gallops off to the hedgerow where I’m sitting, stopping 20 yards from me to look back over her shoulder again.

I suspect she catches some scent from me, because she doesn’t wait long before jumping the fence beneath me, and scampering up the lane a bit. She stops there 30 yards from my brother-in-law, who’s tucked back into a cedar tree, and looks him square in the eye for a few seconds before heading up the hill.

Meanwhile, her suitor has stopped beneath my stand, and has his head up looking for that which he is pursuing. He casts his nose just a bit to catch the scent of her direction, and bounds over the fence and after her. He, too, will stop and look at my brother-in-law from 30 yards away, before heading up into the woods in pursuit of the object of his passion.

This dance won’t go on long. She’ll let him catch her, and nature will run its course. Afterward, she’ll go find her group and settle back into the routine of survival. If nature didn’t take its course, and she’s not pregnant, then she’ll likely go through another estrus cycle in a month or so. More than likely, nature will take its course, and she’ll drop a fawn or two into spring litter on the forest floor.

And next year, this little enclave of deer in this little corner of the universe will have evolved through one more generation.

I’ll look forward to sitting in this stand again next year, watching the frenzy of the rut as it develops. I’ll carry with me the lessons I’ve learned on this hunt, and look forward to lessons waiting for me still.

Archery Journal – November 19

You generally have to sit a lot of hours in a treestand before you get a chance to see a truly spectacular buck within bow range. Before this morning, it happened once to me, when I didn’t have a tag for a buck. On that morning, I watched as the monster pawed and dug up the ground on a little hillock in front of me. After a good 10 minutes, he finally meandered slowly over to my tree, looked directly up at me, and sauntering slowly into the forest behind me.

I wasn’t expecting another chance this morning. When it happened, my lack of good preparation of shooting lanes from my stand forced me into a difficult ethical decision regarding the shot I was presented with.

It started soon after sunrise – maybe 45 minutes or so into shooting light. I’d rattled a few times, but hadn’t seen anything yet. I hear the casual rustle of a deer behind me, and slowly crane my neck around the tree to see what it was. A buck who was probably a 2 year old is back there, sniffing through the leaf litter on the forest floor.

A short rattle brings his head up, and gets him headed across the creek over toward me. He isn’t an animal I’m going to shoot, but I’m hoping I can get him headed up the hill toward my brother-in-law, who is looking only for meat, and isn’t going to be picky about antlers. Luckily, he points himself up the right path, and I’m able to drop a line to give him a casual little spook up that trail.

I sit and wait, expecting to hear the twang of an arrow soon, but am disappointed when the young fella’ spook out of the hedgerow and into the meadow in front of me. A nice try, I think, but we missed out chance at that one. But watching him looking back over his shoulder into the hedgerow, there’s something different about the way he spooked out. He’s watching something intently, but if he’s seeing a person, he’d be runnin’.

I’m wondering if it might be another buck that spooked him out, when movement a little higher up the hedgerow catches my eye. Stepping slowly but deliberately toward the young buck is a magnificent animal about twice his size. His swollen neck was in perfect proportion to the huge basket of antlers he carries like a crown on his head. The mahogany colored antlers sport at least 6 points on a side, though I didn’t really do a detailed analysis. The upright prongs are long and deadly.

The young fella wants no part of this big boy, and they both know it. After assuring the young guy is headed safely away from his territory, the big boy slowly starts to move across the open field. This action has all taken place about 50 yards in front of me.

I’m not sure what happened back there in the hedgerow, but my intuition tells me that this big boy had been attracted to the rattlin’ that I’d been doing, and was slowly making his way down toward the sound. I’ve seen this happen before, where the big boys approach a rattle like a grey ghost, staying silent and hidden until they get a good look at who’s sparring. I suspect the big ones let the battle play out, then move in to chase off both the victor and the defeated – both of whom are likely worn out by the battle they just played out.

In either case, I know I’m glad this big guy decided that the young fella was the source of the noise, and had come out into the open. Now that I had him out, I want to see if I can get him over to me and into one of my shooting lanes. I’m cursing silently to myself that I didn’t do a better job of clearing lanes.

I give a short, rapid rattle. His head snaps back toward me immediately. I realize immediately that I was probably too hasty, as he’s now approaching me from my most visible angle, making it hard to pull a draw on him unless he turns away from me. To make matters worse, the breeze is blowing right across me and toward him. It would have been smarter to let him get across the field before I rattled, so his approach to me would have given him less advantage than he now has. Too late – write this one down in the lesson book. Patience, grasshopper…

He saunters toward me with that “cock of the walk” embodiment of pure strength and grace that only a massive whitetail buck can display. I’m sitting dead still, avoiding a direct stare into his eyes as he stares directly at me while approaching to find the source of the rattle he’d just heard. At about 30 yards, he stops to evaluate. If he’ll only look away for a minute, I can draw and be ready for him. But that doesn’t happen. Instead, he starts his walk again, stopping at 25 yards and presenting a perfect broadside shot to me. But I can’t get a draw on him while he’s staring directly at me.

I wait, and he walks out of the shooting lane and behind some brush. Rapidly but silently, I draw and aim at his form moving behind the brush. Rather than walking into the next lane, he detours a bit, and decides to rub up a small sapling. I’ve been holding this draw for long enough that my arms and shoulders ache, so I let down to wait.

Four times I draw on him as he moves around in the brush beneath me, and four times I let down as he stays out of the shooting lanes. There are two lanes that I should have cleared, and had I done so, I’d be planning a trip to my taxidermist. Few things in life bring the bitter taste of regret to a hunter’s heart as much as holding a draw on the animal of a lifetime as he moves behind some twigs that should have been cleared in preparation for the hunt.

A couple times he stops behind sparse vegetation, and I can easily loose the arrow. There’s a good chance the arrow will clear through the twigs and make a good hit where I’m aiming. There’s also a better than fair chance it will glance off one of the twigs, and result in a poor shot.

I hold and wait. It’s the right decision – the ethical decision – and the one that stings the most.

He eventually catches a big enough snootful of my scent that he decides this is not the spot for him, and trots off. I try rattling again, but am unable to get him to reconsider. He’s seen what he needs to see, and doesn’t like it.

My curses are aimed at my laziness in not clearing shooting lanes well enough, and they aren’t quite as silent as they were a few minutes ago. I spend an hour in the late morning doing the work I should have done when I set the stand up, clearing the lanes properly. Like a penance that helps focus thought and reflection on the deed that earned the penance, I use the work to drive home the need to be more meticulous in my preparation in the future.

While I’m upset with myself for making such a novice mistake, I’m also grateful for the chance I had to watch this guy walking around within 20 or 30 yards for as long as he did. My encounter with him taught me some practical lessons. The bitter regret in my heart for a rare opportunity squandered is only slightly eased by the recognition that when faced with the tough ethical decision about whether or not to take a low-percentage shot, I came down on the right side of the decision.

I know that as time goes by, I’ll replay the events of this morning many times in my memory. I know that on many days, I’ll tell myself that I should have taken the shot through the branches.

I’ve made those sorts of bad decisions in my life, and I know the taste of the guilt and remorse the seeps out of the memory forever. On those days when I convince myself that I should have taken the risky shot, I’ll be only slightly comforted in the knowledge that it’s a regret that’s a lot easier to swallow and taste than the regret of a poor decision gone bad.

Archery Journal – November 18

It’s counterintuitive, but focusing inward to quiet yourself opens your mind and senses more fully to the world around you.

I’m reminded of this each time I sit a treestand while hunting. I’ve isolated myself from human connection by retreating into a secluded spot in the woods. I’ve taken pains to enter the “space” of my treestand in a very slow and quiet manner, blending with the space around me as best I can. I’ve taken up a still and quiet posture in the treestand. I’ve focused a good deal of energy inward, on making myself as unobtrusive as possible. I want to become part of the space around me – to blend – rather than standing out as anything individual.

My body quiets and cools. I always need to dress warm for this, as my heartbeat drops to 50 or 55 as I focus inward on stillness. Vision and human language are the inputs our brain depends on the most these days in our evolutionary journey, and in the treestand, I’ve eliminated both of them. Even when the light is good, my vision is generally limited to a couple of shooting lanes close to my stand.

In this state, I tune much more keenly to the sounds in the space around me. As the pre-dawn darkness gives way to faint light in the east, the sound of tires on the highway several miles away becomes more common. I hear the squirrels roust from their nests, and hear their claws on the bark as they move through the trees around me. When they’re on the ground, I can tell exactly how many are down and where they are as they disturb the leaves they dig through.

I hear the beat of my heart in my chest, and the whoosh in my ears soon after each beat. Thu-whoosh, thu-whoosh. A slow and steady beat.

I hear a small flock of songbirds as they fly overhead, the sound of the air under their wingbeats giving me a good guess as to what birds they might be by how they’re beating their wings. A large flock of 30 or 40 birds sounds as loud as thunder as they thump past 50 feet above me – I hear the sound of their wings for 100 yards before they reach me, and 100 yards after they pass.

Mid-day on a nice day I hear a tiny scraping in the leaves not far away. I watch intently but see no movement. A mouse maybe? Training my binoculars on the spot, I eventually make out a small garter snake pulling himself out of the leaf litter into the warm sun.

The footsteps of deer around me tell me a good deal about what they’re doing even when I can’t see them. Are they nervously poking about, or calmly grazing? Are they talking to each other softly, or snorting a warning?

The movement of air becomes something my ears perceive in a way my eyes can’t. I map the movement of tiny gusts of air through the bare branches of the woods around me by the path of its sound, and am able to predict when I’ll feel it in my tree based on how my brain perceives the arms and reach of the pockets moving about.

I hear individual dry leaves bounce off branches as they flutter to the ground.

I smell the shift in the wind. The smell is damp and musty when the air moves across the creek and the forest floor before it gets to me, while it changes dramatically to grassy and dusty when it comes to me from the open field on the other side of me.

There’s a Chickadee who comes around in the evening, about the same time each day. I can hear Chickadees throughout the woods around me, flitting and buzzing, but this one seems to follow the same pattern on the same branches around the same time each afternoon. He’s very curious about me, often stopping on branches only a couple feet away from me and watching me before moving to another branch.

After a few days, I come to be able to recognize what kind of bird is fluttering through the woods by the sound of the air beneath it’s wings – the wingbeats of birds are sometimes quite distinctive.

Of course, when deer that might be prey come close, my senses zero in completely on the prey. But 99%+ of the time, I’m focused on remaining quiet and unobtrusive. Doing so opens me completely to the input of the world I’ve immersed myself into.

As my mind absorbs the space where I sit, my heart and soul become part of the Place where I sit.

Archery Journal – November 17

Yesterday's Red Morning Sky Foretelling Today's rain

It started raining just as I got set up in my treestand this morning. This is my hilltop treestand, one that I need to drive to get to. I park my truck about half a mile away, and walk in while it’s still good and dark. By the time I’m in the stand and ready, I’ve generated quite a bit of heat to keep me warm for the 30 minutes until the sky starts to show a little light.

It was a slow process this morning – the sky showing light. The clouds sort of mushed night and day together, so darkness crept slowly away as a gray light grew on the meadow in front of me. The rain was never particularly heavy, but combined with the wind, quickly burned up the reserve of warmth I built up hiking in. It wasn’t long until I was trying to work all the muscles I could internally, while remaining still on the outside, in order to generate a little more heat.

I started rattling as soon as the light was good enough to shoot. Nestled up against the face of the dark timber behind, I watched the gray meadow in front of me, and the edges that lead to the meadow.

The sound of the wind and rain jams one of the key senses that a deer has – their ability to hear – so they like to stay hunkered down when this sort of weather comes up. True to form, they stayed tight to their beds this morning, and I never saw a single deer moving.

I took a long and circuitous route back to my truck, exploring other corners. I found a spot or two that looks like it’s had more buck activity than the one I choose, but I’ll stick where I am.

I like the spot where I have this stand set up. I’ve had a couple of pretty magical encounters with deer while sitting here, and have come to think of it as my special mystical hilltop. Regardless of what happens this week while I sit at that meadow, being there fills my heart and soul with goodness and a deep connection to this Place.

The rain seems intent on keeping up all day. Even if it does, I’m thinkin’ I’ll spend some more time this evening with my mystical little corner of the world.

Pelosi and Boehner – The Shame Of It All

I usually try and stay out of politics in this blog, but just can’t resist today.

It is amazing to me that the Democrats in the House of Representatives re-elected Nancy Pelosi as their minority leader. She was completely ineffective as the majority leader, and I see no reason we should expect her to do a better job now that her party is in the minority. I would go so far as to say that in my opinion, her personality, style, and lack of effectiveness was one of the big reasons why the Dems fared so poorly in the majority.

As for the Republicans, John Boehner wins without a contest, which is even more appalling to me. The fact that this guy walked around handing out big tobacco checks to Senators who were kind to big tobacco made a mockery of our democracy, rubbing our faces in the fact that he and his ilk are owned by big money. Over the past 2 years, his entire career has been nothing but an effort to thwart any of The People’s business from happening on the Senate floor.

Shame shame shame.

Archery Journal – November 15

A nice buck is standing right behind the tree I’m in, sporting for a fight with another buck. There isn’t another buck here, but he thinks there might be based on the antlers I’ve rattled twice. He’ll walk into range for me in just a few minutes as he sniffs around looking for an opponent to size up.

He’s a nice buck – probably 4 on a side but maybe 5. I saw where he likes to lay up late yesterday afternoon, and figured I could rattle him in to this spot early this morning. I was right…

I watch him walk past me. He’s within range, but he’s headed up to where my brother-in-law is sitting, and he’ll probably have a better shot than I will. Plus, it’s early in my week of hunting here, and I don’t want to use up my buck tag this early unless it’s a real big boy.

This morning is pristine and perfect. Right at about freezing, with the promise of a nice day, and the rut is just coming into bloom. Climbing up into this stand this morning I was reminded of how scary the climbs in the dark can be when there’s frost on the handholds, footholds, and stand. That last hoist onto the platform always gets the heart pounding.

I enjoy the scenery for the rest of the morning, not seeing any other deer. The squirrels who call this little corner home aren’t at all happy that I’ve taken up temporary residency here, and make their opinion quite clear to me. To make up for it, though, there are a couple of really friendly Chickadees who are quite curious about me, and often will land within a few feet of me as they flit about the branches. A pair of Hairy Woodpeckers find a good cache of something under the bark nearby, and work away for quite a while.

At one point, a Cooper’s Hawk, (of course, it could have been a Sharp Shinned), is flying silently through the branches straight toward me, and veers at the last minute. He flies within 2 feet of me, but far too fast for me to make out many details. The grace of his silent dance through the branches is breathtaking, and I suspect he’ll find breakfast pretty quickly as thick as the birds are in these trees.

In the evening, as I’m back in the stand again, the Chickadees have become even more curious and friendly. Though I wish the hawk good luck in his hunting, I’m glad that these little guys who add some social complexion to my solitary treestand didn’t end up as a meal for him today. Before the light goes completely, I’m able to get a new buck down here into my corner, but he’s not one I’ll shoot either – he’s probably a 3 year old.

After climbing down out of the tree, I squat quietly in on the damp ground for a few minutes to listen around me. Hoisting my pack and picking up my bow, I start a slow and quiet walk toward the house in the dappled moonlight of the lane. I’m comforted by the look of the house as I approach it, hearing the dogs barking up the lane a ways.

Few things feel as good to the heart as the sight of home as you approach it in the dark of a chilly night. The warm light pouring out of the windows into the chilly darkness fill you up inside with the promise of a warm fire inside. It’s hard to keep a smile off your face while looking forward to the friendly banter of family inside, and warm comfort food spooned into a bowl.

It feels good to be me right now, and my heart is full of thanks.

Shifting Winds

I’ve got a special fondness for bike rides that let me have a tailwind on the way home. This week here in the Flint Hills, I’ve had some great out and back rides in the wind, where I get to work hard on the way out into the wind, then turn around and ride the wind home with a smile on my face.

I find that very satisfying, getting the hard work out of the way first, then enjoying the easy half of the ride.

If only everything in life could be so predictable and plan-able.

Like kids. We have ‘em, and we figure we’ll get the hard work out of the way early, then things will get easier as they get older, then they’re grown up and the work’s all done. Right?

Spoiler alert: If you have young children stop reading now while you still know the above statement to be true.

My kids are all grown. I’m not changing diapers anymore, so that sort of work has certainly stopped. (Of course, I suspect there’s a time coming when I’ll be doing that again for their children…) I’m not getting calls from school principles in the middle of the day, so that’s an improvement. I’m certainly not getting calls from the local constable late at night asking me to come down and pick up a son, so that certainly feels like a bit of a tailwind.

But I still know what 3:00AM looks like in a quiet house, worried about my kids. They’re out in the world on their own now, (well, mostly…), and there’s nothing at all I can do to help as they journey down their path. It’s them against the world, and all I can do is send love from my heart and prayers from my soul.

The wind shifted on me…

Or writing. I’m working on my next book these days, and finding the same thing I found with the first – there isn’t that turnaround point where you get a tailwind. I would have thought that once you get the first draft done, you get to turn and get a tailwind, but that just doesn’t happen for me. Sure, the first draft of the first draft is done, but oh my does it need improvement. Reading through it makes me doubt what I was trying to say, or doubt that I’ve said it well. Pretty soon I’ve rewritten most of it several times, and while I hope it’s an improvement, I’m not convinced. Soon, I’ll have to give it to the editor, an then I’ve got not only a headwind but a hill to climb…

When I’m riding the bike out and back, I find that when I’m working against the wind – on my way “out” – my head’s down and my focus is on producing work. Then, when I make the turn and get the wind at my back, I sit up and enjoy the ride. I take lots of pictures, and notice all the things I missed on the way out.

The mind and body are open and receptive. Beauty is more apparent. I find lots of little side trips to explore just for fun.

Maybe, for me, writing is the opposite of how I like to do a bike ride. Maybe the tailwind is the first part of the ride, when I get to just let ideas flow out onto the keyboard – sort of like I’m doing right here. I’m enjoying it, I’m open and receptive, I find lots of little side trips to explore just for fun. (If you read much of what I write, you know I find lots of side trips…) Then the early part is done, and it’s time to start the real work – time to turn back into the wind and put my head down.

I wish it were the other way around…

But today, if it clears up, I’m gettin’ on my bike and ridin’ into the wind ‘til my lungs and legs are beat, then turnin’ ‘round, puttin’ my back to the wind, and screamin’ my way home on the crest of a tailwind!

The Möbius Strip

In our culture, we tend to have a very delineated view of the world. Things are either black or white, they’re either on or off, they’re either left or right. Everything has a “side” to it, or sometimes multiple sides, and I’ve always got to choose which side I’m on. Somebody’s going to win, and somebody’s going to lose.

MC Escher Drawing

The older I get, the less I think the universe is set up that way. Oh, I accept that we try and construct the world we live in that way, but I don’t think this is the “order of things” as they’re laid out in the universe. I don’t think this is how G-d sees it.

I write about this in my book – Peace at the Edge of Uncertainty – and I recently had a discussion with someone that got me to thinking about it a little differently.

MC Escher Mobius Strip

M.C. Escher was inspired by a mathematical concept called the Möbius Strip. Think of it as a flat noodle that you make a loop out of and join the two ends together, but before you join the ends, you give the noodle half a twist. Now, there’s no inside or outside of the noodle, right? If you traced a path along the noodle you’d cover the entire surface – inside and outside – and end up right back at the same place.

Kind of like the concept of giving. In our delineated view of the world, there’s a giver and a receiver, right? One person is on one side of the strip, and the other person is on the other side. But when your heart opens during the act of giving, you’re much more accessible to receiving as well. On the other side of the interaction, the receiver gives gratitude back to the giver, creating a continuum in the giving cycle. Done well, there is no giver and no receiver, but only the blessing of giving.

Like forgiveness. In nearly every religion, the instruction to forgive each other exists, but we often come to think of it in our delineated fashion – thinking that if we want to be forgiven, then we first must forgive others. The classic if/then statement. But I don’t think it works that way.

Expressing forgiveness is something that’s contagious, and infects everyone around us. Forgiving enhances a state of forgiveness, and there’s no inside surface or outside surface. It just happens. We can’t make it happen, or keep ourselves on the outside surface of it, we can only contribute to the state that exists, or turn our heads and try and pretend it isn’t there by refusing to express forgiveness.

G-d doesn’t forgive us because we forgive others – we just choose to join the state that G-d creates – it’s all one surface. G-d doesn’t let us fall into blessings because we give to others – giving to others opens us to the state of giving, and lets us participate in the never-ending cycle of giving and receiving.

The Möbius Strip. Jump on.